National Treasure: The Next Generation
by AlwaysWearingSweaters
Summary: Ben's son John and Riley's daughter Andi are inseparable, always getting into trouble and back out again. What happens when they're in High School and they're faced with REAL trouble...government-sized trouble.
1. Chapter 1

I trudged up the sidewalk of my neighborhood and enjoyed the wind through the trees. I walked nonchalantly but fast. I didn't have much more time until it got dark, and if I was late coming home I would get in trouble. It was a very warm day at the start of fall, but it felt like one of the last judging by the chill that ran through the air. The final light of the day, a hint of dim blue, was quickly growing darker like an leaking ink pen. All of the flowers were gone but the scent of the oaks, dogwoods, maples, and the occasional pines drifted through the trees. The land next to the sidewalk rose up into a small hill, scattered with clover plants and a few dandelions that had little afros of white fuzz. Crickets chirped in one of the clover tufts.

I swung on a street sign to make my turn around the block sharper, and started to finally approach the last corner. The streetlights lit my way on the sidewalk, casting long shadows on the pavement as I walked. I looked at my watch, or where my watch should be. Nothing was there. Great. I ran a stretch of sidewalk. I was definitely going to be late.

After a long day at school, I was ready to take my time and enjoy myself without a rush. That was what my whole week had been like. Rush, dash, whirl, scamper, etc. Being in the tenth grade did that to a person. I liked my teachers, the classes I was taking, and heck, the lunches were pretty good too if you can take them like an optimist. It was the schedule that was my problem. Go here, practice there, field trip tomorrow, then club banquet next. It was all a big jumble in my head. I wondered how large a human brain could get before it exploded in frustration. My frustration faded slightly as I approached my home.

We lived in a charming brick house on the prettiest street in the neighborhood. It had a symmetrical look to the front and glowing windows that watched over you like a pair of kind eyes that streamed golden light in the evenings. My mom worked at Bank of America and my dad worked at a local college, so money was never too tight. They could afford the place. They met each other in an odd way though, really. My father wrote a weird book and nobody ever bought it, not even a signed copy. Except for my mom. And that's how it happened. Love at first sight, folks. I hoped that one day I'd find something like that, but I was just the funny girl that was sometimes perceived to be "the outcast", "nobody" or just plain old "dork". At least that's what I thought.

I mean, as far as appearances go I wasn't Bigfoot or anything. I had my father's dark brown hair which I kept relatively long, and my mom's bright green eyes. A slight spray of freckles dusted my nose but only became noticeable in the summertime when the sun brought them out. I was average height and slightly skinny, a bit awkward sometimes. There was nothing too spectacular about me. I didn't have perfect hair that waved down my back or an impressive chest like some more popular girls in my grade. But I wasn't ugly. I'd often been called pretty or cute by my friends and had the occasional whistle from a random dude thrown in my direction. But I wasn't anything extremely special.

I am a very friendly person and I get along well with mostly everyone. Believe it or not, if I really tried, I could probably be popular. But I'm more content as myself than I am as a Dolly Parton Barbie doll. I'm smart, not into cheerleading, and aren't exactly a star athlete. I really can't do much of anything athletic because of my well-known tendency to trip over air. Even if I was as graceful as an ice skater (which I ALSO can not do) my dislike for hair-twirling popularity in cheer would get in the way. So, considering my high school was full of preps and jerks, not too many people in the school understood me. Other than my best friend, John.

John Gates was, without a doubt, my best friend in the whole world. We were always together. Well, unless he was at some sort of sports practice or something. John had known me ever since we were newborns. Our parents were best friends so we were destined to be buddies at some point. His mom and dad and my father went way back. So, therefore, so did we. John and I were pretty smart, and both had more than one sibling. John was interesting, extremely smart, sporty to some degree, could get obsessive over certain things, had a great sense of humor, and was always there for you when you needed him. Now John was on a trip to a two week history camp, so I was sort of bored. He said that he was coming home tomorrow, so I was basically counting down the days on my fingers.

Don't get me wrong, all the kids at my school were…pleasant and everything. And I was never a social recluse. They just didn't associate with me as much as they did other people because they didn't take the time to get to know me. They were just in their own cliques. I was between all of them. It was sort of that way at home, too. My family had always been smart, so I had that going for me at least. But my brothers and sisters were all intelligent and well rounded in sports and social life. I don't know how that happened, to be honest. My dad was never the social butterfly in high school. Let's just say that Riley Poole, the computer nerd, didn't get too many invitations to parties.

Concerning my brothers and sisters…I was _never _an only child. About seventeen years ago, my older sister, Sydney, was born. Yes, Sydney. As in Australia. Sydney was actually born _in _Australia, so the name doesn't lie. She had been in the terrible twos all of her life, bossing me and the rest of my siblings around. She loved being "mom" to us, making sure we listened to what she told us. I had always been looked over by Sydney. As we grew older, she became busier with her "personal life" and other "mature" topics.

My thoughts drew back to my lateness as I balanced on the edge of the grass and the concrete where they met. A weed tickled my leg. I looked up and over into the overgrown yard that the weed belonged to. The yard, a mere six houses away, was unkempt and weedy in every way. The window boxes were empty with only dusty soil as an occupant. The place where the bushes should have been was overgrown with weeds as well as shrubs that were impossible to identify apart from each other. It was the yard in front of a huge brick house that had a sign on the overgrown lawn. It said "for sale" on it on the bright red cardboard. English Ivy covered half of the house.

I glanced at the broken heating system in one of the front windows. It was rusted over and useless. I laughed. I liked my own household heating system personally. Suddenly, after seeing a swift movement, I gasped. A pair of large eyes peeped out of the house window. Over them was brown hair. I quickly looked away, a bit embarrassed. Who would be in that house now? I had never seen anyone living there now that I thought about it.

I kept on walking. Maybe the person would forget that I was even there. I tried to recompose myself. But then I heard footsteps behind me. I was too nervous to look to see who was there. I broke into a brisk jog, quickly approaching my house. Even though I drew closer with each footfall, the steps behind me did the same. I started to run, but it was too late. I felt a pair of hands rest forcefully on my shoulders. I almost screamed, but it caught in my throat.

I panicked, beginning to think that I was being kidnapped by whoever this psychopath was. I could feel my knees shaking in fear. The hands didn't move. I was trying to control my terrified hyperventilation.

"I have you now," a voice whispered into my ear, "and I have weapons, so I suggest you come with me."

I felt myself ease for some reason, but I didn't know why. That was, until, a water gun was shoved up to the side of my head. I spun around, and there was John, standing there looking so incredibly smug it wasn't even funny. I was half furious and half ecstatic to see him, so I decided to go with ecstatic for his benefit. I ran at him and, naturally, he thought that I was going to kill him. But instead I gave him a bear hug tackle right there on the sidewalk. I had never been so happy to see him in my life. Well, I think so. Seriously, school without John for two weeks?

"I thought you said you'd be home tomorrow!" I said messing up his hair.

"Yeah, about that…" he smiled. "I decided to surprise you. I came home early. I got a cold and they insisted that I head home."

"Is it so hard to admit that you missed your best friend ever in the whole wide universe?" I said casually as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. I helped him off the ground, spreading out my arms as if to give him another hug.

"Like I needed _you_. Right," he said sarcastically.

It was so good to see John even after just two weeks. Two weeks seemed like a lifetime when we saw each other every day. His light brown hair was shaggy as ever, and his blue-ish eyes had that same old spark I was used to. I loved that spark. The whole way back home we walked arm in arm and talked about everything. How school had been, funny things that had happened, how I almost lost my retainer in the garbage, all that charming stuff. I could talk to him about anything at all. I could just be myself, and he wouldn't care if I was stupid. We were like that. We didn't really care about personal stuff around each other. We'd never been too stand-offish with each other either. We weren't afraid to occasionally hold hands and do things like that because we know we're close enough friends to do that and we wont take it the wrong way. Some people had assumed we were a couple before.

"John," I finally said, "what…what on earth were you doing in that house?" John smiled and shrugged.

"Eh, I was on the way to your house and I saw it just kind of staring me down. I decided to go explore the backyard since nobody was home, and it turns out the house was unlocked. So I peeked inside and that's when you showed up."

"You just went inside of someone's house?" I chuckled, not too surprised really. John and I were both extremely curious and adventurous people. And truthfully, him venturing into that house sounded more like something I would have done.

"Well, nobody technically lives there anymore," he said with a comical tone of guilt. I laughed.

"Bring me next time," I said, "Maybe we can help the place out out. You know, do some renovating. Add in a nice granite kitchen countertop, a spacious sunroom. Make it look less like…a morgue."

Both of us finally reached my house and the smell of my dad's grill wafted over to our noses. Thank goodness. I was starving and seriously craving a famous "Dad-grilled steak." We opened the glass front door and I could hear the Fray playing loudly from the radio. I could hear Kari, my youngest sibling who was eleven, practicing something on the piano in the living room. We walked into the kitchen where mom was in an apron, her wavy strawberry blonde hair tied back into a lose pony tail. Her eyes widened when she saw John but she immediately gave him a big hug.

"John! How are you? How was the trip?" she asked, wiping some unidentified food substance from her cheek.

"Great! Besides me getting sick. But other than that, great!"

My mom just loved John. She would probably adopt him if she could even though she had four kids already. John was like another Poole child and I was like a daughter to John's family.

"Well I'm glad you had fun," she said, going back to her mixing bowl.

"I mean, it had its unenjoyable moments…" John said, "We went on a walk and I got poison oak and mosquito bites. And our guest speaker couldn't come. So w were stuck singing Kumbaya with Rainman, his group leader," he grimaced. I chuckled.

John had inherited his father's smartness genes and was a total history buff. His father was a famous treasure hunter, so you betcha John was a natural. He was the president of our school history club and went on all of these really nice trips for advanced students. Both of us were really into having fun and solving things, so we really liked subjects like that.

Eventually John and I made our way into the playroom, our favorite room in my house. It was a gray room with shaggy comfy carpet, a big TV, a fridge, ping pong table, and old blown up LIFE magazine pictures on the walls. The classic photos of people in a 3D movie, the ice-skating waiter, the soldier and the nurse kissing, in Times Square, and the old truck on the road. Each one had a phrase underneath them.

Ever since we were little kids, our favorite place was my ping pong table. We never actually played ping pong that often, but as kids, the ping pong table was our sanctuary. We built countless forts under it, hid underneath it from our siblings, and used it in childhood games as the 'bomb shelter' or 'house.' But as we got older, we would go underneath the table, lie on our backs, and talk. We would just stare at the bottom of the table, swapping stories and drinking Capri-Sun juice boxes. Some of the most memorable times of my life.

The ping pong table tradition had never been broken ever since, so John and I subconsciously made our way to the table. I settled myself on my back, staring up at the underside of the table. I knew where every screw was, the dent where Kari had danced on the table as a three year old, and where it said "made in china." John was next to me, brushing his brown hair out of his eyes. His hair was a little lighter than mine. His shoes kicked the table above us and I put my hands behind my head. For a few minutes we didn't talk. We just lay there, catching our breath from the long week.

"So the trip…it was that bad?" I said. I sensed that he hadn't had a very good time despite what he had told my mother.

"Yeah. It was," he sighed. I felt bad for him. He was expecting such a great trip.

"You sang Kumbaya? With Rainman?" I grimaced, trying not to laugh. He laughed and nodded.

"Every stinkin' verse." he replied as if he were telling the most gruesome part of a scary story. I pretended to shudder.

"Would you like a Capri-Sun, my good man?" I asked, using an accent.

"That would be marvelous, madam." he replied using the same voice. I gave him a Capri-Sun from the fridge in the playroom, and layed on my side so that I was facing him.

"Nice to have you back, Jonnyboy." I said.

"Nice to be back, Andrea." he sighed. We toasted Capri-Sun.


	2. Chapter 2

The FBI headquarters was a bit more crowded than usual, because there were more workers. There were more workers because there were more problems. And there were more problems because there was more stuff, causing more crime. Just stuff, material, issues. Money, people deceiving others, and more standards set. Yet somehow, everyone found ways to occupy themselves and keep everyone informed for the worst. That was their nice way of saying that it was quite a nosy day.

Tons of manly looking guys were strutting around with their short hair, talking on their bluetooth to whoever needed them. Slender women typed on their keyboards, hoping to somehow get a raise by the time the day was over. Everyone was in a huge hullabaloo and they were only looking out for number one. But Marley was neither of these. He was just a thirteen year-old boy, barely surviving in middle school.

Marley scratched his dusty-colored brown hair and glanced up at the giant office door in front of him. Peter Sadusky the plate on the door said. He nervously tapped his fingers on the metal arm of the scratchy chair that he sat in. There was no reason to be nervous. It was just his grandfather. But he was still edgy. When his grandfather was in the middle of something big, there was no stopping him. And Peter had just gotten an important call that required Marley to wait outside.

The boy pulled his gray hoodie over his hair and hugged his knees in patience. Somehow patience was one of his strengths. Patience, and staying quiet around tons of people unless they were his best friends, which was very few. He took a deep breath of the chilly air that smelled of old coffee and leaned his head back against the wall.

"How much damage was done at the Smithsonian?" his grandpa's gravelly voice said from the office. A disappointed sigh followed. Marley thought about getting up and listening in curiosity. But he knew that if he was caught then he would be as good as dead.

"The scrolls were a very important asset to the museum," Sadusky continued. "I don't know why anyone would even dream of…well, yes sir. I am aware of the current economy, sir. Who isn't? I just don't understand why this crime was so intent on this one item, and why they didn't bother to grab the nearest and seemingly more expensive item they could get their grubby hands on. It's almost like Ben Gates himself broke in and stole his own treasure." Marley's ears perked up at the mention of Ben Gates. He knew how much trouble the treasure hunter had put his grandfather in, but in the end came up on the good side. Ben had brought his grandfather's business and employees nearly begging at times. Personally he was one of Marley's heroes.

Marley stood up to grab a drink of water, not able to take much more temptation to eavesdrop, when the door swung open. Peter Sudusky came out, an aggravated look on his face.

"How bad is it?" Marley said, almost forgetting that he had said the words out loud.

"Very bad." his grandfather said, grabbing his coat. Marley zipped up his hoodie up to his chest, and followed Peter Sadusky into the rainy weather, his grandfather unconscious that he was even there.

Marley hopped into the back of the Mercedes and buckled up tightly. He wasn't even sure if Peter knew he had gotten in the car. But Marley didn't care. He wanted to find out what was happening for himself. Be in the middle of something awesome, dangerous, adventurous. But then Marley reminded himself not to get his hopes too high. It was probably just some ordinary robbery.

The car was silent for a few moments until Marley coughed unpurposefully.

"So, is it a robbery?" Marley questioned his grandfather, itching for any information he could scrape up. Peter cleared his throat and waited several seconds before answering.

"Yessiree. It sure is," he said with a tinge of finality that made Marley cringe a bit. Marley could tell his grandfather was hiding something.

"A robbery of what?"

"A very important item. An item Ben Gates found a few years ago," Peter said monotonely.

"Which one?"

"Well, actually Marley, you tell me. Museums all over the country have been targeted, and specific items have been taken in the night. Skilled criminals too. Barely left any trace. Tons of the items were priceless, and an eerie amount of them are all traced back to Gates." Marley's heart began to pound. Was this the opportunity he'd been waiting for all these years?

"So where are we going?" Marley asked.

"Well," Peter Sadusky said, "the museum first. And then we'll go and pay Gates a visit."


	3. Chapter 3

I sat in my desk, tapping my pencil repeatedly on my text book. My teacher's words went through one ear and out the other for this last ten minutes of class. I was waiting for the bell to ring and let me out of Geometry as soon as possible. All of the students around me looked antsy, shifting in their seats. A short blonde girl named Spencer was next to me, her eyes going over to the clock every few seconds. A boy called Luke was tapping his foot impatiently, and one of my friends, Garrett, was doodling an impressive skyscraper on his worksheet. Everyone was especially anxious to get out of math today. What was today? A field trip. A sweet, wonderful escape from the eternal prison of the dreaded classroom and a jolly wild gallivanting romp into the real world. Or something like that.

After what seemed like a lifetime and a half, the bell rang and the students stampeded out of the classroom. Half of the class forgot to pick up their homework assignment, and the rest of us dropped it on the floor in our rush to get out of the classroom. We made our way down the hallway in a flash, and finally reached the busses. I looked for people I knew in the crowd of students so I'd have someone to sit next to. I finally saw a familiar head of brown hair and clung to his arm.

"Hello, Jonathan," I said.

"Why hello, Andrea," he said back with a smile.

"Ok everyone, hop on. We'll be late," Mr. Miller barked. Mr. Miller, our PE Teacher was driving our bus today for our field trip. We took this trek every year to get into a giant assembly line of doom and pack port-a-pit dinners for a homeless shelter fund raiser. We would all stand along the sides of two large lunch tables and load up Styrofoam boxes with food. Some of us would bag the boxes, put in forks, and do other numerous things and prepare the boxes to be served to the masses later. And usually, the masses were old men with ball caps and fat ladies in librarian clothes. The only real bad part was that you could smell the chicken grilling in the distance, and right in front of you inside of the boxes. But you couldn't eat it. Terrible, considering that it's the best grilled chicken in the world. And this whole shenanigan would go on for four hours until we ate…the highlight of my day.

The trip was usually pretty fun. It was better than sitting in all of our classes like normal. And we usually ended up working next to our friends if we strategically lined up like we did so well. And after we were done packing food boxes, we usually got to eat there for lunch. So really the situation wasn't all that bad. If you were really lucky you and your friend could work on a special job together.

The chattering high-schoolers filed into the bus like schools of fish. There was a school of popular girl fishes, the jock fishes, the nerd fishes, and then the John, Andi and other people fishes. We all got in, dressed in our school field trip uniforms which consisted of polo t-shirts and found our seats. I, naturally, sat next to John. As soon as we sat down, he pulled out a rectangular object from his pocket.

I nearly screamed in jealousy. John laughed at me as he held his shiny new iPhone.

"I got it just last night." he chuckled. I narrowed my eyes then started pleading pitifully.

"Can you buy one for me?" I mock sobbed. He shook his head firmly.

"Can I touch it?" I asked him, eyes large and pathetic. He pretended to lick the shiny new iPhone. I growled and sat farther down into the greasy leather bus seat, and pouted. He knew how much I loved tech toys.

"You suck, port-a-jon."

While John was fiddling with his iPhone I drew faces in the foggy window. It was really cold outside today. Well, at least the coldest day we'd had in a while. And, because I'm mother nature's favorite, it was raining too. More like "misting" really. Suddenly, something black appeared in my face. John was videoing me with his new toy.

"And here, we observe the unusual and exotic Andi in her natural habitat," John said in his best Steve Erwin voice. I made some sort of exotic noise. Although we weren't allowed to bring electronics to the trip, John, being the rebel that he was (snort) went along the dark path and brought his iPhone anyway.

John went right along, videoing me with his stupid Erwin charade.

"HELLO AMERICA!" I said as I waved at the camera. Suddenly, John stopped filming.

"And, hello death," he muttered. Hardly a muscle moved in his body. "Andi, either there is a serious technical glitch in my camera, or Principal Travis Rawlings is standing right beside you." I froze as well, pretending I knew what to do. Mr. Rawlings was the principal at our school, Jefferson Academy. He had short, dark hair, glasses, and a very stony face with the most unusual eyebrow arrangement I had ever seen in all my born days.

Mr. Rawlings had never smiled once since I had know him, and that's saying something. I had been going to JA for eight years. If it wasn't for the bouncy VP, Connie Dillon, then this school would be a medieval torture chamber. Complete with the thumb stretchers. Ms. Connie Dillon, or Ms. Connie to most, was like a ray of sunshine in our school. Everyone was her favorite and she even kept Rawlings in line. I think Rawlings has a little old-guy crush on Ms. Connie. Which was creepy yet somehow endearing at the same time.

I slowly turned around to see if I could see him from my peripheral vision. Can't miss that scowl. Sure enough, there he was, as John would say ol' "Jolly Rawlings." I had to think of something fast to make the situation look inconspicuous. A fake conversation maybe? Nothing came out of my mouth.

"Mr. Gates…" Rawlings said, with a tone that screamed "busted."

"Yes sir?" John asked innocently, slipping his iPhone secretively down a side pocket in his jacket. If I were Jolly Rawlings I'd have missed it, so props to John.

"Are you aware that we aren't supposed to bring electronics on this bus?" he said, raising those deformed eyebrows of his. I shuddered to think what his parents looked like…

"Yes sir?" John said.

"We don't understand, sir. We don't have any electronics" I said, trying to be innocent as well.

"Well, Andrea," he said, I cringed when he said my full name, "what was that object he was holding a minute ago?"

"A, um, credit card!" I said. My hand literally went up to cover my mouth. Only afterwards I realized how incredible stupid that sounded. Well, credit cards are about that size, right? I was a goner.

"OK, enough beating around the bush. Hand over the iPod, Jonathan," Rawlings said to John. John gaped his mouth open.

"But, I just got it! It's a really important gift! And my name isn't Jonathan, it's just John actually. It's not short for anything… " John said.

"If it had been that important, you wouldn't have brought it with you," Rawlings growled. John grimaced and handed over the brand spanking new black chromatic beautiful iPhone. It was now in the evil clutches of…_him_. Rawlings walked off, slipping the iPod into his own pants pocket. John sighed. "I don't want it back. He touched it." John said. I started laughing.

Finally, the bus screeched to a stop in front of a portico and John and I hopped out of the swinging doors. Giggly girls and a few dudes filed out behind us. A guy named Ricky Abernathy, one of John's friends, came and stood next to us. Ricky was, I think, about seven months older than John and a bit taller. Ricky wasn't a jock or a nerd. He was actually a really cool guy. Since Ricky was older than John, he already had his license, resulting in his ownership of a REALLY NICE car, a Charger to be exact. Ricky came from a substantially rich family, so he wore real nice, trendy clothes to school. Stuff like polo's and vests. And his dad was Scottish which added some coolness to the Ricky equation. He had short-ish almost-black hair, darker than mine even. It was slightly spiked up in a cool, sort of messy fashion. By his clothing style, you would have never guessed that he was a great skateboarder. A lot of things were neat about Ricky, but he doesn't talk too much unless spoken to. Ricky is more of the silent type, but a pretty cool friend nonetheless.

We all filed into the main entrance of the building, and made nametags for ourselves. I wasn't surprised when a bunch of the guys made fake names for themselves like "Toilet-head" or something. Finally they had realized their true nature. When we were all set, everyone went outside to take their spots at the long tables.

Just by sheer luck, John, Ricky, and I got the easiest job; placing the plastic forks and spoons in the food boxes. When the line started moving, all I had to do was throw a fork in and scoot the plate down. Ah, this was peachy. Up until Rawlings' heavy hand came and rested on my shoulder. He had done the same to John. Ricky had a confused expression. Ricky was Rawlings' favorite. Opposed to us. Rawlings wished he could stick our faces in a dirty diaper.

"Would you two be willing to volunteer for bucket washing?" he asked. Before we could say _no sir, we're fine here, sir_, he said, "very good."

It didn't sound that bad, bucket washing. I'd been on bucket patrol before. It consisted of rinsing out the buckets that held certain food items with a hose and stacking them up into piles. It was probably in the kitchen, and since it was cold and raining outside we'd be dry. Rawlings wouldn't stick us out in the rain, would he? He led us by the shoulders towards the door. But then veered sharply left. We were at a stone wall with a concrete floor. We could look over the wall, and see a tennis court, covered in fog. And, guess what? There wasn't a covering to keep us out of the cold rain.

"Evil," John whispered darkly, "the pure embodiment of it." He didn't even need to look at me; I knew who he was talking about. I started glancing pathetically at the stacks of dirty buckets around us. I heard John sigh like a deflating balloon beside me. There were about ten buckets that needed to be washed. And more would be on their way here. John sighed again, and slammed his fists on the brick wall. Over them were fog-covered hills. If I wasn't so cold and wet I'd think it was pretty.

"Andi, we are going to die of hypothermia," he said. I snorted. He continued. "Andi, have I ever told you that…I hate Rawlings?" he said.

"Honestly, who even comes close to liking him at all?" I snorted.

"Connie," John and I both said. Connie was the only person that could ever have a tinge of friendliness to Rawlings. Even my parents thought he was a mutant.

We washed probably seventeen buckets in two hours. Not too many, but they came slower and slower. And we got more and more soaked in the humid, warm mist the hose gave off. John's hair was sticking to his forehead. He swiped it out of his eyes with his hand.

"Well, I'm cold," I said, stating the obvious as I scooted next to him so that our shoulders touched.

"Same here. I hope we can go inside soon. I'm gonna die out here," he sighed. Suddenly, I heard footsteps off in the distance getting closer and closer. I looked over John's shoulder and saw Ricky. He was running up to us, still holding a bunch of forks. I smiled at him.

Okay, I'm a girl, so you can't judge me when I say that Ricky and John were very cute guys. But John was my best friend so I didn't really think about it too much with him. For some reason I'd been thinking about it a little more lately. That's, of course, beside the point. Ricky, however, was one of those really nice guys that I might actually date if he asked me. John? A bit awkward, because for now we were just best friends. But you never know what might happen in the future.

"Hey guys…" Ricky said, smiling a bit pained-like.

"Uh-oh. That face isn't good," I sighed, "what does Rawlings want now? To hang us from a flagpole by our toenails?"

"You guys need to come in. There's something that you might want to see," he said. So, without further questions, we followed him into the big scary building and got ready to receive the surprise of our lives.


	4. Chapter 4

A sharp knock came to the front door of the gigantic house.

"COMING!" Ben sighed, putting down his Thursday morning newspaper. He had just gotten John and his two daughters to school several hours ago, but there was always something going on in the world of Ben Gates. Publicity was rampant and family was always on the move. He couldn't wait until five o'clock, the time when things usually calmed down. Then maybe he could appreciate some TV or a cup of coffee. Nevertheless, Ben moseyed down the huge staircase to get the front door. The doorbell rang abruptly three times in a row.

"BEN! BEN!" a voice called from behind the massive slab of mahogany, "BEN! C'MON BEN!" Ben glanced out the peephole of the door, seeing a head of dark hair bouncing on his doorstep.

"Riley?" he muttered to himself. He opened the door and, sure enough, there was Riley looking rather bedraggled and out of breath. Riley flung himself into the house, holding his iPhone in his friend's face.

"Did you…get a call…from this number…" he panted, wiping his forehead. Ben almost smiled. Even in his middle-age years with four children, Riley still had as much energy and personality as a teenager. Ben wondered how his wife dealt with him sometimes.

He read the number that Riley was showing him.

"I don't even know that number," Ben said, "but, Riley…are you all right? Do you want to come in for a minute?"

"That would be smashing," Riley said, punctuating his sentence by slamming the door behind him. Riley immediately flew into Ben's living room and flung himself onto the biggest couch. Ben followed, sitting down a bit less enthused in a chair across from him.

"Riley, you didn't have to come all the way over here, you could've just called," Ben said, his eyebrows raised. Riley groaned.

"Your cell phone is off. All the time," Riley complained. Ben shrugged.

"I never use it. And I don't even know where it is," he said. Riley looked at him in disbelief.

"Wh-what?" he said, "What could you have done with it? Did you…did you _eat_ it? Ben, what adult goes a whole month without his cell phone?" Ben simply pointed to himself. Riley gave up on the argument and slumped back into the couch.

"Now, why would I be getting a call from this particular number?" Ben said, pointing to Riley's phone.

"Why _wouldn't_ you get a call from this particular number?" Riley hinted as if he were about to tell Ben a huge secret.

"Well I don't know but I'd love to be enlightened," Ben chuckled. He knew how much Riley loved to know things he didn't.

"Well," Riley said, "I got a call about fifteen minutes ago from this number. I didn't recognize it, so I, of course, didn't pick up my phone. But I checked my voicemail later and guess who it was?"

"Riley. You're killing me. Just tell me what's going on."

"Basically the FBI is a grouchy three year-old and thinks we did something to break the law. Again."

Ben's eyes widened for a spit second, but he soon returned back to normal. He let out a chuckle.

"Riley, the FBI is our ally. At least most of the time. And the times they weren't were the times they were doing their job."

"But Ben-"

"I'm sure you misread the message," Ben sighed. Riley glared at him.

"Ben. I listened to it several times. They didn't come right out and say 'we want you in prison,' they said that the FBI needed to pay me a visit. But they sounded none too happy. And I was coming over to ask if you had maybe gotten the same message, because if it's something that involves both of us, we'll go down together. And it more than likely has something to do with our treasure hunting."

Ben shot up from his seat, suddenly walking about the room.

"Ben?" Riley asked, wondering what had made his friend so excited all of a sudden. Ben began digging in drawers through the room, looking under cushions and bending down to look underneath the couch. Finally, Ben pulled out a dusty object from underneath the couch.

"Ah…hello beautiful," he said to the object. He showed Riley his newfound cell phone. Riley sighed. Ben plugged up his cell phone to charger, making sure Riley saw and was satisfied.

"Thank you, Ben," Riley said theatrically.

"You're welcome, Riley. Now what was that number again? I'll check for it in my missed calls." Riley read the number off to Ben who began looking through his phone and suddenly stopping.

"Well? Do you see it?" Riley said, suddenly leaning forward in interest.

"Yeah…" Ben said in a monotone voice as if his mind were working at ten miles an hour, "and they left a message."

"Well listen to it!" Riley nearly yelled in anticipation. Ben looked taken aback, but dialed his voicemail anyway.

After two minutes, Ben hung up the cell phone. A look of fright came over his face.

"See? What did I tell you," Riley said in a satisfied I-told-you-so voice.

"What could the FBI possibly want from us? What did we do? We haven't done any excavations in…how long has it been?"  
>"Eh, about ten years," Riley shrugged, "our last one was when Andi was about five." Ben nodded.<p>

"And we haven't done any government work in ages," he said, looking out his window, "what could we have possibly done to be wanted again by the FBI?"

"I really don't know," Riley said, "but I'm not looking forward to any appointments with them any time soon."

Almost as if it were on cue, a siren sounded off into the distance.

"You don't think…" Riley said, his face paling. Ben looked out the window. No cars were in sight, but he knew the sound of those sirens all too well.

"Get ready, Riley," he said, "I think we're getting visitors.


	5. UPDATE

HELLO EVERYONE!

Sorry if any of you had false hope here…this is merely an update to tell you exactly what should be expected as far as updates in this story and other random nibblets.

First of all, any of you who have reviewed/favorited/read my story whatsoever…THANK YOU SO MUCH. You are all the reason I write and feel good about my writing in the first place so thank you for taking the time to read my stuff. I honestly didn't think I'd get ANY responses at ALL considering this is my first story on fanfiction. So I LOVE YOU ALL and we all need to be best friends, run around flapping our arms, and proclaim our love of National Treasure to the world. Sound good? Good. It's definitely happening.

SOMETHING YOU NEED TO KNOW is that I did NOT come up with this story all on my own. This story is actually the product of the imagination of myself and friend when we were little kids. We were National Treasure fanatics and so we made up a story where the characters had kids our age. As we grew up, we aged the characters John and Andi with us, so really we've grown up with them in a way. She owns John, so he's technically not mine. But I write about both of them anyway (with her permission of course). So I cannot be given full credit for this story. You can thank her as well

As far as story updates go, I should be updating this particular story several times a week. I won't let it get cold, I promise. I can't promise every day, but I can probably update every other day or at least three times a week or so. But if I break that promise don't get mad. Chemistry class is out to get me… And I have another account (by this same name) on Fiction Press where I have probably four stories going, so I have stories to update there too. So I may or may not be able to update frequently. But I probably because I love writing this fic

I am also probably going to do several other stories centering around these characters and John and Andi in particular as they get older and go on more adventures *epic music* So don't be surprised if a new Next Generation fic pops up. It very well might. Let me know any ideas or possibilities you'd want me to consider in the story/future stories. I will take ALL into consideration. I'm going to do a PJO fanfic in the VERY near future, so get ready for that. And a Maximum Ride one is also a possibility. Hmmm….decisions decisions…

Here's something you might want to know. Whenever I write stories or come up with new storylines, I like to "cast" them as if I were casting actors and actresses for a movie. But I base it entirely on the way the character is supposed to _look_. I pick out actors/models/actresses that best capture the character's look, but the character obviously looks a _little_ different in my head since that's the whole purpose of a story character. They're supposed to come from your imagination. But anyway, I casted this story with my friend to get a better idea of what the characters (that aren't already in the movies) were to look like.

THEREFORE:

Andi – Kaya Scodelario

John – Tony Oller

Marley – Luke Benward

Principal Travis Rawlings – Gary Sinise

Just to name a few.

I just thought maybe you'd want a more vivid mental image. If you're one of those people that likes to create the character image yourself (which I do most of the time anyway) ignore what I just told you XD And as new characters come up, I will tell you the actors/actresses I casted for them if you want me to. Just let me know. And that goes for all of my other future stories as well.

ANYWAYS, I just figured you'd want to know these things. SO THANKS FOR READING MY STORY! I love you all :D


	6. Chapter 5

John and I filed through the large double doors and into the building. We closely followed Ricky, who somehow knew exactly where he was going. John and I looked at each other with wide eyes. Our hearts pounded against our ribcages as we thought of the terrifying reasons we were being brought inside from our bucket washing. We hadn't done anything wrong. I mean, sure Rawlings had a huge stick up his butt when it came to the two of us. But that wasn't a good enough reason for us to be in significant trouble. John looked just as concerned as me, staring straight ahead and refusing to look anywhere else.

Ricky brought us into a smaller room where Mr. Miller was looking at us in a very strange way. In the same room, some of the adult volunteers were packing boxes full of Styrofoam food containers. About half of them, however, had stopped what they were doing and were watching a small television in the corner. It was a news station, one that my parents often watched while I tried to drone it out with my MP3 player. Ricky motioned towards the television.

"Ricky, what could you possibly want to show us on channel seven? I thought we were in trouble," John said, a look of relief passing over his eyes.

"Just listen," Ricky said.

John and I glanced at each other with a shared expression of relief. John even let out a small chuckle. But suddenly, his eyes widened and his face whipped towards the television screen.

"You okay, Johnboy?" I asked. But John gave no response. He just stared blankly at the television. I slowly turned to look at the TV and soon my expression was the exact same as his.

John's own father, Ben Gates, appeared on the television screen, or a picture of him at least. Underneath were the headlines "Ben Gates: A Living Conspiracy." My eyes bulged out of my skull. A gray-haired news anchor appeared next to the picture, looking rather solemn as he spoke.

"Historians and government officials alike have been baffled by this sudden increase of thefts, all involving the Templar Treasure. The thieves appear to be experienced, not leaving behind any evidence of who they are or what their motives were for stealing these artifacts."

I looked over at John, but he too enraptured in what the anchor was saying and didn't return my gaze. The anchor continued.

"The only thing apparent," stated the anchor, "is that these criminals have used many of the same methods that Ben Gates and his collaborator, Riley Poole, exercised in the procuring of the Declaration of Independence. The same equipment used by the two of them was also used in the robbery of these artifacts. Considering that this is all the information the authorities have, Ben Gates and Riley Poole are the two most palpable suspects in this case. Now, Kelly, what do you think about all of this new hullaballoo surrounding Mr. Gates?"

A blonde newswoman appeared on the screen next to the anchor.

"Well, Bill, I find all of this baffling, but also somewhat overdue. It's about time that Gates surprised us with something new."

"But I suppose this wasn't the surprise anyone was expecting," the anchor named Bill elaborated.

"Definitely not," Kelly chuckled. "Although the words 'theft' and 'treasure' seem to have the conspirator's name written all over it, it makes no since that he'd steal back his own cache after he insisted on placing it in world renowned museums for the public."

"Agreed, Kelly. Could greed for money be one of the possible causes?"

"I'm not sure. Gates seems like he has enough of that already," Kelly snorted. John's eyebrows drew down as he continued taking everything in. I felt lucky that my own father hadn't been mentioned much, but soon that thought was jinxed.

"Well, what about Riley Poole, Ben's accomplice? He's accompanied Gates on nearly every excavation and expedition, offering sophisticated technological aid. Without Poole, Gates would be in a rut, therefore placing Riley Poole right next to Gates as far as suspects goes."

"As far as I know, the FBI has already brought both of them in for interrogation, so we'll just have to find out whether or not they have anything to do with this situation whatsoever."

The television flashed to live footage that made my heart shoot up into my throat. It showed John's house surrounded by government vehicles and flashing lights. His father was escorted out of the house by two FBI agents and, to my shock, my father followed closely behind. John's mother soon rushed out the front door in a bathrobe, pushing through the officers to get to Ben. My own mother pulled into the driveway, climbing out of her car and rushing towards the scene. Everyone was rushing about, writing things down on notepads and pushing our fathers into the back seats of foreboding black cars.

Suddenly, the television flashed to a black screen. I looked over at Mr. Miller who had pressed the power button and was staring at us with an unidentifiable look.

"You kids should head home. I'll take you," he said. John and I looked at each other and followed Mr. Miller without hesitation. Ricky gave a halfhearted wave as we walked out of the room. I offered him a forced smile and walked out of the building, John by my side. I hoped he couldn't hear how fast my heart was pumping.


	7. Chapter 6

"You've got to keep it together, Andi," I breathed to myself as I walked out of the large building into the rainy air_. _John kept a steady pace next to me, his face stormy and troubled. I felt empathy for him more than I felt worried for myself. Ben Gates was the one most likely to get more blame in this situation. After all, his father credited the Templar Treasure discovery to the entire Gates family with the assistance of my dad. _Assistance_, I thought to myself with a grim snicker. All these years he had complained about being second banana. Now I was sure my father was thanking his lucky stars.

John and I were led to a nearby car, ugly and green. An older woman stood by it, a hairnet still clinging weakly to her obviously dyed hairdo.

"Mrs. Williams will run you kids home," Mr. Miller said as we hopped into the vehicle. He shut the door briskly, probably too worried to get involved in the whole situation. John and I scooted back into the seats. I wanted the worn, cool leather to swallow me whole and take me to yesterday so all of this would go away. Better yet, months from now.

"Let's get you kids home," the woman said in a raspy voice.

The ride back felt like the ride to death row. I had no idea what to expect. Would they take my dad away? Would they arrest him and put him in prison for life? I looked over at John who I figured was thinking the same things. I wanted to say something to him to lighten the mood like I always did, or wait for him to crack a corny joke. But neither of us really felt like saying anything at all. The whole situation was like something out of a dream. I laid my head on the window and refused to look at where we were driving

Gravel crunching beneath the tires of the car felt like a death sentence. John's driveway. The faint sound of sirens crept into my ear. Suddenly, I heard the car door on my left burst open and John was out of the car before the vehicle had even come to a complete stop. He rushed towards his mother and gave her a concerned hug. I followed, his actions snapping me out of my thoughts as I ran to my own mom who was talking to an officer.

"Andi! Oh god," she said as she held me close. "What's happening?"

"Dad's all over the news. My dad, John's dad, they're everywhere. They're in big trouble mom, they didn't do anything, we both know it," I said as I held onto her again. Seeing the emotions in the eyes of my mother and looking at all of the turmoil in front of me caused a lump to rise in my throat. Tears began to aggravate my eyes as I started to hyperventilate. My arms released my mother as I walked around the scene. Several of those terrifying FBI cars crowded the premises. I knew that one of them contained my father. Part of me wanted to jump into action and break open those tinted windows, saving him and proving that he was innocent. But I had no proof. And that jumping-into-action-Andi was frozen. The terrified Andi stood there instead.

John was pacing, searching for his father. His brow was furrowed with concern and frustration, scanning the crowd. I walked in his direction and stood by him about to say something when Abigail grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Go inside, John," she said without emotion. John couldn't do anything but follow her orders. I assumed that I was to do the same and followed him inside the large double doors of his home. The doors creaked and slammed shut behind me as I took a seat at the foot of his stairs. Suddenly, all of the emotions flooded me at once. I bend my head over and my shoulders began to heave with sobs. John immediately sat down next to me, wrapping his arms around me. I thought that I could feel his heart beating through his chest.

"They'll be alright," he said, his voice hollow. I let myself lean into John, listening to his breathing which sounded as if it were still recovering from the panic and tension. We sat there for a while, too confused and dazed to move.

"This isn't right," I finally muttered. John let go of me and looked at me thoughtfully. He surprised me by giving me a grim smile.

"You don't say."

"Really, John. Something isn't right about this. Our dads obviously didn't do anything. It's just a big-time coincidence that there have been thefts of the Templar Treasure going on all around the world."  
>"I don't know, Andi. All I know is that our fathers are headed downtown right now. And we need to be here waiting for them when they get back home tonight."<p>

Secretly, I worried that they wouldn't come home tonight at all.


	8. Chapter 7

Marley Sadusky glanced out the tinted car window, red and blue lights flashing in his eyes. He had never seen anything like this in person. Maybe on the news or in a video game, but this was real. Men and women in uniforms and suits ran around, writing information down on little memo pads. News cameras were stationed every ten feet with reporters giving an animated update to the "latest breaking news." The eighth grader's eyes were as wide as dinner plates, taking it all in.

"Can I get out of the car?" he hopefully asked his grandfather, Peter Sadusky.

"Not now, kiddo," he sighed as he adjusted his dark sunglasses, "wait until it calms down. Plus your mom would kill me if she saw you on the news." Marley sat back into the firm seats of the clean car, watching the entire scene unfold before his eyes.

Peter Sadusky slowly exited the vehicle, straightening his shirt collar and approaching a ginger man who appeared to be one of his agents. Marley sighed. His grandfather had the coolest job ever. Marley had always had a healthy fear of his grandfather. At the same time, Peter Sadusky was his hero, the kind of guy that every kid Marley's age wanted to be. Besides Ben Gates himself, of course. All of Marley's friends knew that his grandfather was working for the FBI. How could they not? Marley found some way to slide it in to conversations with his buddies. Marley always felt special when he was able to go to work with his grandfather. He knew he was only allowed to hang out there because his parents worked full time. He still felt special knowing that he was allowed to see what went on behind the scenes at the FBI.

A green car pulled into the driveway at a rather slow pace, waking Marley from his daydreaming. _More reporters_, he thought to himself as the car began to come to a stop. To his surprise, the back door jolted open and a teenage boy bolted out of the car. He ran to a blonde woman and hugged her disconnectedly, looking around in a panicked manner. Marley's eyes narrowed inquisitively. What was this kid doing here? Marley became even more startled as he saw a girl follow him, her dark brown ponytail flying out behind her. They looked older than Marley by a few years. He watched as they ran about the area and finally into the large house.

They looked vaguely familiar to Marley. He could have sworn that he had seen one of them before, at least the boy. Marley realized that they must live there, or at least one of them did. It's not like any teenager could barge into Ben Gates' house. Marley's curiosity immediately sparked. Millions of thoughts rushed into his head_. Are they the kids of Ben Gates? Do they know what's going on here? Did they go to my middle school?_ Marley decided to keep an eye on the door, waiting to see if one of them would come out again.

Suddenly, the back doors of the car opened behind Marley, who was riding shotgun. He didn't bother to look behind him, figuring it was just another FBI worker. Peter opened the door to the divers seat and got back into the car.

"So, Mr. Gates and Mr. Poole," Sadusky said nonchalantly towards the back seat, "you're at it again." Marley's eyes bulged out of his head. Gates? Poole? He whipped his head around to look behind him and, sure enough, there sat Ben Gates and Riley Poole. Marley slowly turned his head back around to face the windshield, trying his best to keep his fangirling to himself.


	9. YAY FOR MORE UPDATES AND NEW STORIES

Hello lovely people

First of all, thank you for all of the wonderful reviews and for being such dedicated readers. I really, really appreciate it. I honestly didn't think this story would get much attention at all, so I'm really flattered!

Secondly, I apologize for that one really long absence I took from this story. I've been swamped with three AP classes and it's really difficult to keep up with all of my writing. But I'm back at it and should be posting new chapters and updates when I can. I apologize for any coming disappearances from this story and any others.

Anyway, I'm going to start a new story based off of this next gen. National Treasure fic. Or, at least, I'm thinking about it. I'm definitely continuing this particular story because I love it. But there will be another one with these same characters coming soon. It will involve John and Andi in their college years and possibly some awkward love triangles. I know there's nothing romantic about this particular story (yet…haha) but things change over the years as you may very well find out…

So I just thought I'd let you all know to expect something new sometime soon. And I hope you're ready for some John and Andi tension/awkwardness and a few new characters.

Bye


	10. Chapter 8

"Hello, Mister Gates," a voice from the front seat spoke gruffly. It was easy to recognize and Ben's stomach dropped. His fingers tensed in frustration. Sadusky.

"Hey," Ben said simply, his head dropping on the seat in front of him. Peter Sadusky didn't respond any further.

"You must really like us," Riley muttered next to Ben. Sadusky chuckled darkly.

"I'm starting to think it's the other way around," he replied grimly. Riley raised his eyebrows, sighed, and sat back in his seat. Sadusky paused. "I don't know what's going on, Ben. There are some crazy people in this world." Ben looked up at Sadusky in the rearview mirror in surprise.

"Wait, are you assuming we're innocent?" Ben questioned the older agent in front of him. Peter shrugged nonchalantly, slipping on his sunglasses.

"I can't assume anything. Especially with you, Gates," he responded, "I don't see why you would want to steal your own treasures back from the most world renowned museums in the world. But then again, I didn't see why anyone in their right mind would try to steal the Declaration of Independence. Or the President of the United States."

Riley and Ben glanced at each other wordlessly, growing silent for the next few minutes and feeling the tension grow helplessly. Sadusky broke the silence.

"I like you, Gates. And we've already put you through a bunch of mess in the past. So I hope that we have evidence to prove something to your benefit," he began, then he sighed, "but I just don't know. We gotta do our job." Ben's mouth shut into a fine, determined line on his face. Riley closed his eyes in frustration. His thoughts drifted back to the surreal experience they had just had with the dozens of police cars crowding around Ben's house, cold handcuffs, seeing his family behind him wondering what was going on. He felt like a failure. Years of happiness and success after the Templar treasure and the City of Gold had all lead up to this?

Soon the car began slowing, pulling into a slow, grueling stop.

"Alright guys," Sadusky said as he exited the car, "let's hope things go well." Ben and Riley exited the vehicle, looking upon the all-too-familiar FBI building that loomed above them. With every step towards the door, the two men felt dread. They didn't bother to glance at each other. After knowing each other for so long, Ben and Riley had figured each other out. Neither of them was happy about the situation and neither of them had a good feeling about the outcome. They just hoped that they were wrong.


End file.
